As The Sure Stars Stand
by Azrhiaz
Summary: Written for the Contrelamontre "sliding doors" challenge-- two different stories based on a "what if" moment.


As The Sure Stars Stand

_We had stood as the sure stars stand, and moved _

_As the moon moves, loving the world; and seen _

_Grief collapse as a thing disproved, _

_Death consume as a thing unclean. _

_Twain halves of a perfect heart, made fast _

_Soul to soul while the years fell past; _

_Had you loved me once, as you have not loved; _

_Had the chance been with us that has not been. _

_-- Swinburne_

I. Twain

"Tell us the story of the great Hazel-Rah", one of the young rabbits, Thyme, asked.

Dandelion shifted in the grass and regarded the assembled rabbits, wandering over leisurely as they finished their evening silflay, eager for a story. He was tired, and the cool of the early autumn air sent an ache through his left hindquarter. Not as young as he used to be, and not as free with his stories, either. But Thyme was so eager and earnest that he sighed.

"Very well," Dandelion began. "Although you have heard it all before, some stories Frith gives us to tell again, that they may not be forgotten."

"It was an evening much like this one, only somewhat colder. This was before the great war with Efrafa, when Bigwig-Rah defeated General Woundwort with Captain Blackberry's tricks, and Fiver's vision of the dog." The smaller rabbits shivered at the mention of Woundwort's name, and pulled closer together, looking around themselves with bright wide eyes. Dandelion took no notice, already lost in the memory.

"Hazel-Rah and I were out scouting. Fiver had had another dream, and insisted that there was something in the wood that night that was a threat to us all. Never one to back down from his duty to the warren, Hazel insisted we check it out. Had we known how truly Fiver had dreamed…" -- here Dandelion trailed off for a moment, and bent his head to nibble a stray bit of late clover. The young rabbits waited patiently, and at length he began again.

"Dark fell quickly that night, and we were eager to be out, to head off whatever was coming, if we could, or to find out whether we should leave the down. So we set off Fu Inle' over the down and into the thick tangle of the wood.

I followed Hazel, staying close behind him. And we were quiet, quiet as the mist that crept over the ground as we went among the threar. But the moon was bright, and none is so quiet as to escape the notice of the Black Rabbit when he walks without sound or scent."

The mention of Woundwort had caused a shiver. The name of the Black Rabbit, however, made the smallest doe, Marlinthlay, begin to shake uncontrollably, her eyes going huge and blank as she slid towards tharn. Thyme eased beside her and nuzzled under her ear until her breathing eased. Dandelion continued.

"We had not gone very far into the wood when we caught the scent. It was like a homba, but not exactly. Hazel turned and whispered to me-- 'Have you ever smelled that before, Dandelion?'—and I was about to answer when suddenly it was on us, quicker than any homba, and far larger. More like a dog, but without any smell of Man about it.

In the silvery light its fur was the same color, and it had yellow eyes. I remember the eyes, horrible things, and I knew that this was Fiver's dream come awake. And I froze, started to go tharn with the terrible cold fear. The next instant I felt its teeth in my left flank, and they weren't cold. They burned, oh they burned." Dandelion shifted again, the old wound flaring with an echoing throb.

"But Hazel—the great and brave Hazel-Rah did not run. He ran under the not-homba and turned his back legs up and tore at its underbelly for all he was worth. It dropped me, and I fell to the ground, dazed and bleeding, and watched as it turned on Hazel.

What happened next seemed to spread out slowly, like a dream. A chill wind passed over me, and I saw a shadow cross the moon and I trembled, for the shadow glanced back at me, if only for a moment. Then it was gone—but so was Hazel. The creature snapped him up, and I heard him cry out." Dandelion's voice dropped to a near-whisper, and the little rabbits leaned forward, tense with fear and anticipation. "He said my name, and then he was gone; the creature ran off with him. I could do nothing, and the darkness claimed me for a time, until Fiver found me and helped me back to the warren.

Many days later, when the fever-dreams had stopped, I first told the story of Hazel-Rah the Brave. And Fiver told a story, as well. He told me the very next night he had dreamed again—that the creature was a threat to Man, as well, and several of them had come and killed it, and taken its body away. I believed him. Fiver, you see, was never wrong." 

Then Dandelion fell silent, and felt the old sadness creep over him again. Rabbits deal with death every day, but it would be wrong to say they do not grieve. Even so, what Dandelion felt for Hazel was not the usual sort of thing. It made him think of leaves blowing in the autumn wind across the down, although he could not say why.

"My heart is with the thousand. My friend stopped running today," he whispered as he turned away from the wide-eyed children and hopped slowly back towards the warren.

II. Halves

"Tell us the story of the great Dandelion", one of the young rabbits, Thyme, asked.

Hazel-Rah shifted in the grass and regarded the assembled rabbits, wandering over leisurely as they finished their evening silflay, eager for a story. He was tired, and the cool of the early autumn air sent an ache through his left hindquarter. Not as young as he used to be. 

"Why don't you ask Silverflax?" Hazel said. "He knows the story. And I am no storyteller."

"But you were there," Thyme protested gently. "You knew Dandelion."

"I did indeed," Hazel replied, and the memory of Dandelion's scent drifted across him, as warm and real as if he were standing downwind just now, low over the rise of the down. Hazel remembered, too, close nights where the world was nothing more than the warmth to be found in tawny fur in darkened runs, and secrets even Fiver dared not dream.

"So will you tell us, then?" Thyme pressed, and Marlinthlay nodded shyly as well, eager to hear the tale from Hazel's lips.

"No," Hazel said, remembering that terrible night—Dandelion leaping in front of him, protecting him from the creature, and the moment he gave in and ran, Dandelion's screams chasing at his heels, etched forever in his memory. When he'd returned, breathless and shaking, it had been some time before he'd been able to tell everyone what had happened. Dandelion was hailed as a hero, dying for his Chief Rabbit. Only Hazel knew there was more to it than that, and of that he did not speak, although Fiver looked at him overlong before turning away. And Hazel thought perhaps he knew, after all.

"All my stories died that night," he said as he turned away, leaving Thyme blinking and confused.

Across the down, the autumn leaves blew.

End.


End file.
